


Of Soup Stock and Sick Days

by elephantshell



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Modern Westeros, Sick Character, fluffiest fluff, girlfriends taking care of each other, sick sansa, tending to the sick, wolfthorn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 21:15:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6394156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elephantshell/pseuds/elephantshell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa Stark has a sick day and begrudgingly lets her girlfriend nurse her to health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Soup Stock and Sick Days

**Author's Note:**

> For @bravelikealady. Originally a prompt meme "How I said I love you" (hoarsely, from under the covers)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @wolfthorned
> 
> Yes, Sam Tarly is the Westoros expo of David Starkey, whatcha gonna do?

Sansa Stark was probably dying.

She was also probably exaggerating, but compared to the intense pressure building behind her eyes and the painful dry lump in her throat, death didn't seem too scary at the moment.

If the head cold didn't kill her, embarrassment and guilt just might. When she was stupidly honest in her “good morning, how are you?” text to Margaery, she'd expected sympathy, loving words, but certainly not Margaery at her doorstep, precariously balancing a bag full of the makings of chicken noodle soup.

“Don't you have class?” Sansa asked, reining Lady back from mauling Margaery in the dog’s excitement to see her second-favorite person.

“Not Tuesdays,” Margaery chirped, setting her bag down and pecking Sansa on the forehead. “Oh, God, you're burning up, baby” Margaery exclaimed, her brow furrowing in worry.

“I am?” Sansa croaked. Margaery flinched at the sound of Sansa’s voice. 

“Couch. Now.” Margarey pulled at the sleeve of Sansa’s sleep-crumpled tee and steered her to the plush couch.

“But-” Margaery touched a silencing finger to Sansa’s lips. She made her way to the linen cabinet and pulled out the largest comforter she could find, a thick baby blue number, soft as velvet from decades in the Stark family, bundling up children and serving as a roof for countless forts. Margaery flung the comforter on Sansa and proceeded to snugly tuck her in, partly, Sansa suspected, to keep the ailing girl from moving in her weakened condition.

Margaery turned on the TV and began flipping through the best that daytime TV had to offer them.

“ _Judge_ _Stannis_ _Baratheon_?” Margaery suggested. “ _The_ _Web_ , maybe?”

“Varys creeps me out”, Sansa said. “He’s every vacant eyed talk show host on steroids”.

Margaery chuckled at her girlfriend (probably fever-tinged) assessment of the talk show host and kept flipping until Sansa made her stop on The History Channel.

“Oh, come on, Sans, how many Doom of Valyria documentaries can you really watch?”

“I haven’t seen this one!”

“How many different ways can they tell the exact same story?” Even though her eyes felt like they were about to pop from her skull, she still managed a devastating eye roll at her girlfriend’s dismissal of the nuance of history.

\--------------------

_Myth or history? The fabled Doom of Valyria is said to have taken place nearly 5,000 years ago, in the so-called Age of Heroes._

Dr. Samwell Tarly wandered around the ruins of Valyria, posing dramatically by the skeletons of ancient palaces, his famously bombastic voice spouting facts and purple prose from Sansa’s TV. Margaery had promptly exited the living room the second the program began in earnest and got to work in the kitchen. Between the soothing voice of Dr. Tarly, the clanking and scraping and tapping and thudding of Margaery’s work in the kitchen and Lady’s snuffling by the couch, Sansa found herself slipping deep and fast into sleep.

\--------------------

_As far as she can see, she sees flowers. Orchids, tulips, lilies as far as the eye can see. And roses, so many roses Sansa could drown in them._

_Sansa stands in the center, in a flowing ancient gown, taking in the scents and the beauty._

_“Sansa?” She turns at the sound of her name, and there is Margaery, similarly attired, and glowing. She is at home with these flowers, and to Sansa, she is the sweetest bloom in the garden._

_Margaery makes her way to Sansa, gliding practically, her arms outstretched, her face shining with adoration._

_“Oh, my love,” Margaery whispers, taking Sansa into her arms. Sansa inhales and feels herself melt into the embrace. Margaery is doused in the scent of roses and somehow sun. Sansa takes a deep breath in and loses herself in the scent._

_“Oh, Sansa. Sansa. Sansa”_

\----------------------

“Sansa?”

Sansa opened her eyes, crusty and heavy and saw Margaery holding a bowl of soup, the scent heady and spicy and absolutely gorgeous. Sansa sat up, her body heavy and achy from sickness and sleep and made a place for her girlfriend on the couch.

“I had a dream about you”, Sansa croaked in between sips of soup.

“Oh?”

“I think it was around the time of King Robert I? Medieval-y, at any rate. We were in a garden, you were a princess,”

“Sounds about right,” Margaery deadpanned, her fingers intertwining with Sansa’s auburn curls.

Sansa smiled and continued to sip at her soup. She let out a moan of appreciation. “God, I love this.” She finished the last of her soup, and buried herself back under her blanket, her head laying in Margaery’s lap. Margaery’s fingers absentmindedly combed through Sansa’s hair, brushed down her neck. “I love you,” Sansa said hoarsely, eyes still focused on Dr. Tarly, walking down the halls of The Red Keep, the ancient palace of the Targaryen kings of old.

Margaery looked down at her girlfriend, pale, achy and sniffling, but somehow still beautiful  and glowing. She planted a kiss on her forehead (fever slowly breaking, it seemed). “I love you too, darling girl.”

\-----------------

Sansa Stark might be dying, but with her head in her girlfriend’s lap, her favorite historian talking about her favorite time era, and her puppy’s head on resting on her side, she started to think this wouldn’t be a bad way to go.


End file.
